When We Collide (15 page)

“Tell me you feel this, too.” I wet my lips and
tried to make sense of how I felt. “Because I can’t stop thinking
about you.”

Slowly, she untwined our fingers, and Maggie took a
step forward to stand between my knees, moving to hold my face
between her hands. They were warm and trembled against my cheeks.
Her touch was soft, as gentle as her eyes, just as gentle as the
cautious hands I placed on her hips.

Everything thrummed and sped—my nerves, my heart,
and my mind.

Locks of hair fell all around her face when she
leaned in, and I reached up with the intention of brushing it back,
but I couldn’t stop myself from winding my fingers through the
auburn waves just because I needed to
feel
.

Yes.

So soft.

Desire prickled over my skin.

I cupped the back of her head and slid the hand at
her hip around her waist. I was so far out of my element, and I
cautioned myself to move slow, knowing Maggie was nothing like any
of the girls I’d dated in the past.

“William,” she whispered. She hovered two inches
from my face, wavering, rocking in indecision, before she pressed
her lips to mine.

The close-mouthed kiss felt both innocent and
obscene, something stolen, forbidden. It was the single most
intimate moment I’d ever shared with anyone. We lingered, breathing
into each other, our hands shaking and pulses thundering.

I wanted to weep from the loss of contact when she
pulled away.

Visible panic welled up in her, that old sadness
darkening her face when she touched her fingertips to her lips, the
pain in her eyes when she took one fumbling step back.

“Maggie,” I implored, reaching out. “Please don’t do
this.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and fisted one hand at
her side, as if she were struggling to find something to say,
before she turned and ran.

William ~ Present Day, Later That Night

It was that moment six years ago when I realized it
was too late and there was nothing I could do. I’d fallen for the
first time in my life and I’d fallen hard. That fall had left me
battered and scarred. Had left me with a child I didn’t even
know.

I lay on my stomach across the length of the couch,
hugging a pillow with my face buried deep.

The wind gusted and shook the window pane.

It suddenly occurred to me that I’d become just as
good at hiding as she was.

Maggie ~ Present Day

I stared out the passenger window of Troy’s truck
after we left the pizza place. Buildings whizzed by as a blur of
obtuse shapes and flashing neon lights. I ignored the churning
anger emanating from Troy, the tendons on the back of his hands
flexing and tensing as he gripped the steering wheel. I pretended I
had no reason to believe anything was wrong. Troy had never given
what happened between him and William that summer any
acknowledgement.

In his wounded pride, he had glossed over the
incident as if it’d never occurred. It was one of the few times
life had ever cut me a break. I knew Troy had his suspicions. The
contention between him and William had always revolved around me,
but for once, Troy’s ego had been my safeguard, keeping watch over
the one secret I’d protect with my life. Troy was dying to vocalize
it, I knew, to curse William’s name and his sudden reappearance,
but saying it aloud would only be a testament to the one person who
had ever dared to put Troy back in his place.

It seemed both a miracle and a punishment that I
hadn’t run into William the entire week. The time had been spent
wondering whether he’d stayed or gone, both longing to see him and
contending with an all-consuming fear of what would happen if I
did. I couldn’t really make sense of the feeling, how I was so torn
between an intense desire to catch even a single glimpse of his
face and the ardent prayer he had gone.

I listened to the gossip whenever I went out and
engaged in conversations I normally would have avoided. No one had
so much as breathed his name.

As preoccupied as I had been with watching for him,
it was no surprise that I spotted William’s car the second Troy
pulled into the parking lot at the pizza place. Maybe I should have
come up with an excuse to keep Troy out of that restaurant. Then he
wouldn’t be seething beside me and I wouldn’t be so damned sick to
my stomach. But in the moment, the need to see William outweighed
any rational thought.

I glanced over at Troy as he jammed the gear of his
truck into park under the detached carport outside our house.

“Goddamn it,” he swore at nothing at all, then he
jumped from the truck. Slamming the door shut behind him, he
stormed up to the house, jerked the back screen door open, and
disappeared inside.

It’d been worth it.

I’d been so scared of seeing William again. I was
terrified over what he would say and what he would do, and I hadn’t
expected the relief I felt when I’d seen him there with his family
where he belonged, taking up the space my choices had driven him
from so long ago.

And I was sure I’d do just about anything for that
instant when William and I had been caught up and lost to each
other, when, with just a look, he’d taken me back to how we’d once
been.

I sat fixated on the empty space between the carport
and house that Troy had just occupied, the winter air seemingly
inflamed by his anger. The tire swing pitched and rocked from where
it hung beneath the massive tree that took up most of our small
backyard, the tree’s branches pummeled by a sudden gust of harsh
wind that followed in Troy’s wake. Sadness swelled within my chest.
I’d bore witness to that type of anger my entire life. Still I
couldn’t grasp from where it could come.

Troy had been left just as damaged by his childhood
as I had been. Sometimes I saw it beneath the hatred in his
eyes—remorse. But the icy bitterness was too thick for regret to
ever break through. He’d forever hold us captive in this miserable
life.

“Mommy…isss cold,” Jonathan complained, breaking the
silence from the backseat of the truck.

I shook myself from my thoughts and turned to smile
at him, reaching out to brush his cool cheek with the back of my
hand. “I’m sorry, baby. Let’s get you inside.”

~

I tugged the blankets up to Jonathan’s chin. He
snuggled down into the covers and grinned up at me, and I gently
swept the hair back from his forehead.

“Tell me your favorite part of today,” I murmured
into the dimly lit room. On the floor on my knees, I leaned against
the edge of his bed. I wound a lock of my son’s silky hair through
my fingers, felt the wistful smile playing at my lips. I loved
these quiet moments, when the two of us would shut the door behind
us and lock out the rest of the world, when I rested and remembered
the things I did have to be thankful for. These times felt like
mine and Jonathan’s special secret as we spoke in hushed voices and
honest words. It was a sanctuary never invaded. Not even by
Troy.

Jonathan twisted his brow up, concentrating, as if
his answer were the most important thing in the world. His eyes
lit. “I liked eating pizza.”

I chuckled and my smile spread. I tickled his sides.
“You do love pizza, don’t you?”

A subdued laugh broke free from his mouth, and he
nodded his head vigorously as he rolled onto his side to protect
himself from my playful attack. “Yes, Momma…is’ my favorite,” he
whispered as he giggled and squirmed beneath my gentle fingers.

My love surged, tingled all the way from my
fingertips brushing his sides and traveled to my toes.

Gasping for breath, Jonathan stopped to gulp for air
then fell into another fit of repressed laughter when I tickled him
again. We might as well have been elementary school children at a
sleepover, buried beneath a blanket with a flashlight, trying to
stay as quiet as possible so we wouldn’t be caught staying up long
after we’d been told to go to bed.

“Mommy,” he wheezed, clutching my hands when he
finally had enough. He sat up, his little hands still gripping
mine. His head was cocked to the side with an adorable grin drawing
up only one side of his mouth, his hair sticking up everywhere in a
tousled mess.

I laughed and smoothed it down.

“All done?” I asked. I straightened his twisted
covers so he could get situated back in bed.

He climbed in. The smile never faded from his face,
even when he yawned. “Yep.”

Yes.

I adored these times.

I kissed his forehead and whispered, “Goodnight,”
against his baby soft skin.

“Night, Mommy,” he said, sinking down and cuddling
into the warmth of his blankets. I began to stand when Jonathan
grabbed my hand. “Wait, Mommy,” he said, almost frantic, “we forgot
your part.”

Oh.

I sank back to my knees. I wondered if my expression
was the same as his had been when he’d asked the same question,
because to me, my favorite parts of the day
had
been the
most important things in the world. I sighed and drew my lips
together in thought. Was it wrong to share this with my son?

“I had two favorite parts,” I finally said as I
fiddled with a loose thread at the corner of his blanket.
“
This
,” I murmured, softly nudging his chin with my knuckle.
He wiggled in unabashed pleasure, expecting my invariable answer.
“And…” I weighed what to say, settled on sharing the snippet of joy
I felt. “I saw a friend today. That made me happy.”

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and
glanced away.

Friend.

I fought the moisture threatening my eyes.

“He used to be, anyway.”

God. Maybe this was the worst thing I could do,
rambling to my son about the man who’d confronted me a week before,
demanding to know if Jonathan was his. But I’d held it in for too
long and it felt too good to let it out. Just once to give voice to
William, a declaration that what we’d shared had been real.

Jonathan frowned in a searching way. “The
friend…that’s…mad at you?” he asked.

I grimaced and ran my fingers through his hair, not
surprised by the conclusion he’d drawn. I knew I was crossing a
line by speaking this aloud, but I at least owed Jonathan this. I
saw the fear that had widened his eyes when I sped away from
William before. Jonathan had strained in his seat to get a better
look at the man who stood staring at us as we left him behind. Then
tonight Jonathan had seemed unable to look away from him when we
walked into the restaurant. It had only increased. It was as if a
tether of awareness had linked them when Jonathan stared out the
window at William who stood unmoving in the parking lot. It was
almost unbearable to witness the way William had looked at
Jonathan. I wanted to hide my son away from the protective longing
that lined William’s face, because I’d seen it before when William
shined his light into my life six years before. William was not
going to give up.

“Yes…Mommy did something that made him very sad a
long time ago.”

“How come?” Sadness slowly seeped into Jonathan’s
features, as if he couldn’t comprehend I had done something to harm
another person and this news had chipped a little away at the
complete faith he had in me. As difficult as it was admitting my
faults to my son, I knew it was a given opportunity to instill
something in him that I’d always lacked. I wasn’t going to waste
it.

“Because I was too scared to do what I knew was
right…too scared to fight for what I wanted.” I lowered myself to
look him fully in the eye. “I wasn’t brave enough.” And how I
wished I’d been. Shifting, I took his small face in my hands and
stressed the words. “But you’re brave, Jonathan. You can do
anything
you want…you just have to decide…decide how you
want to be treated.”

Jonathan seemed confused, as if he didn’t
understand—or maybe he just disagreed.

His attention went to the door and to the one who
lurked behind it just outside this little haven. “Is your
friend…bad?” he whispered low, cowering as he made the obvious
comparison.

A skitter of emotions flashed through my body, guilt
and sorrow and overpowering bitterness.

“No, baby, he isn’t bad.”

Unable to hold myself together any longer, I leaned
in and brushed my lips across his forehead. “You should get some
rest, sweetheart.”

“‘
Kay, Mommy.” He rolled over and
tugged the covers over his shoulder.

Everything felt heavy as I forced myself to stand.
Up until then, neither of us had ever voiced our fears out loud. We
acknowledged it in the tears we shed together. Soothed it in the
way we clung to each other when we wiped those tears away.

I hadn't been prepared to hear my son call his
father bad.

I found myself with my back pressed against
Jonathan’s bedroom wall, biting my fist to keep from weeping aloud
as I watched my son sleep in the shadows of his room. He tossed
fitfully, as if the darkness had sucked him under and held him
hostage in this nightmare that was our life. He whimpered from
somewhere in the blackness of his mind.

Trembling, I forced myself from the room and into
the equally darkened hall. I drew in a sharp, shocked breath when I
noticed Troy hovering as a quivering ball of aggression on the
brink, just inside the living room.

I shook as he approached. His steps were menacing,
purposed as he slowly stalked toward me. Splaying one hand across
my chest, he pushed me back against the wall. His breaths were
ragged as he loomed over me.

His mouth descended on mine. Forceful. Hot.
Angry.

It took everything not to cry out. This was how he
would take his frustration out on me. He’d mark me, claim me—assert
I was his without ever saying a word.

Pulling me into our room, he pushed me onto the bed.
He never seemed to mind that I lay limp while he consumed me, and I
couldn’t help but think that was the way he wanted it.